


The Choices We Make

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Broken Bones, M/M, Miscommunication, Nightmares, Sexual Content, Tarsus IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: The expression on his engineer’s face is far from hopeful as he explains, “We just don’t know why this happened, Cap’n… but it couldn’t have been at a worse time. You know as well as I do the replicators need to be updated with fresh supplies in order to keep making food, not to mention we need to refuel and do a quick engine overhaul.”“I know all that, Scotty. I want to know how-... how long, Scotty?”He doesn’t voice the rest of the question: How long can we last before we all die? Scotty sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, but he doesn't reply right away, likely thinking of the best way to say something Jim knows isn’t going to be good.“Honestly? If we start rationing use of the replicators now, programming them to prepare only the most essential and efficient foods and restricting usage, we can likely make the stores last another month. That’s with three meals a day, so if we cut that down to two, we could make it go a bit longer. But in a month, that’s when our auxiliary power is gonna start to run out, so no matter what we do, we’ve got about… six or seven weeks to come up with an answer or have Starfleet find us floating out here.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 15
Kudos: 139
Collections: T’hy’la Bang 2020





	The Choices We Make

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun doing the T'hy'la Big Bang 2020! The accompanying art has been provided the fabulous [@thetribblewithspock](https://thetribblewithspock.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Please let me know if there's anything else I need to tag :)
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [@dying-redshirt-noises](https://dying-redshirt-noises.tumblr.com/)

_“Yes-! Yes, right- ah!”_

_Cool fingertips trace fire over his skin, equally cool lips following in their wake. Every inch of him is sensitive, so sensitive. He burns under the delicate touch._

_“Please… Please, more… I need more-”_

_His voice chokes off in a shuddering gasp as a hand wraps around his length, stroking slowly. Heat curls through his gut, sweet and searing and perfect._

_“What do you need?”_

_The voice in his ear is low and deep and sweet, a rumble of summer thunder. His whole body shudders this time under all the attention, his hips rolling up into the hand around his cock. A whine leaves his throat._

_“I-... I need-”_

_Another stroke pulls the breath from his lungs, stops his mind from working._

_“Tell me what you need, Jim.”_

_He opens his eyes, his vision blurred with lust. There is but one thought in his mind now._

_“You,” he whimpers, reaching up to cup a cool cheek, to draw the object of his affection down for a searing kiss, “only you, Spock.”_

* * *

“Captain? Captain, did you hear me?”

Jim blinks, torn from his memories of the previous evening. Chekov looks at him expectantly, and he’s suddenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him. Fighting an embarrassed blush and slapping on a smile, he replies, “Apologies, Mr. Chekov. I suppose I was just deep in my thoughts.”

“We have arrived at Zeta Tucanae III, sir, and we are in orbit above the planet,” Chekov tells him, “The landing party is ready in the transporter room.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Chekov. I’m going to head down to give them final orders. Lieutenant Uhura, you have the conn.”

_Final orders, why did I have to say it like that?_ Jim takes a deep breath once the turbolift starts running, smoothly taking him to the proper level of the ship. There’s this… _thing_ that’s been eating at him for some time now, something he can’t quite put a name to. He can’t let it get him, though. He’s the captain of a starship with four hundred-some-odd lives depending on him to make the right decision, the decision that will bring them all home alive, the decision that will get the least amount of people killed. 

He jumps when the door slides open, so lost in his thoughts again that he hadn’t realized he’d arrived. _No good… I need to be more aware, need to keep my mind on the ship._ He pushes away all the thoughts that have been plaguing him and heads for the transporter room. 

The away team is all assembled, Spock giving them basic instructions. Sulu is there with the botany team, the three of them chatting excitedly about their work on the planet below. The geology team, headed by Dr. Kulap Rattana, is doing much the same, as is Dr. Ngozi Princewell’s biology team. The sight makes Jim smile for real. These are _his_ people, the people he would do anything to protect.

“Everyone ready, Mr. Spock?” he asks.

They all snap to attention, but he quickly waves them off, as Spock steps up, saying, “Yes, Captain. All science teams have their orders and all equipment required to complete the necessary tests.”

“Wonderful, thank you, Spock,” he turns to the rest of the team, “I’m sure Mr. Spock has all the orders from Starfleet well in hand, so I won’t repeat them. You all know what you have to do down there, and I hope you all enjoy the chance, not only to stretch your legs, but to do it on a planet no one else in the Federation has been to. Enjoy yourselves… but be careful. We don’t know precisely what type of life is on that planet. Keep your wits about you, and take care of each other. I want to see you all again when the mission is done. Understood?”

He’s answered with a chorus of ‘yessirs.’ Perhaps his advice is a bit dark, perhaps not the best pep talk he’s ever given, but it’s the truth. He _does_ want them all back on his ship alive in a few hours.

They beam down in shifts, the transporter pad not big enough to beam down everyone along with the equipment, and eventually Spock is the only one left to go. Jim steps close to him, their arms brushing, murmurs, “You _will_ be careful… won’t you, Spock?”

“I shall endeavor to take the utmost care with my person,” he replies, voice equally soft, “I would very much like to return to you tonight, after all.”

Jim fights the shiver threatening to roll up his spine. Spock was with him last night and the night before last, and they were amazing nights in ways he’d prefer not to think about while he’s working lest he be distracted again. They’re not completely alone here. Even if the two transporter techs look absorbed in their work, there’s nothing a starship crew loves more than scuttlebutt, and there’s no better scuttlebutt than the captain and his first officer entering into a relationship. (Not that there haven’t been rumors of that for years now, but confirming the rumors would lead to an uproar on the ship Jim doesn’t think he’d be able to subdue for days.) While Jim would prefer a sweet good luck kiss, they settle for simply brushing their fingers together where the transporter techs can’t see, a sneaky Vulcan kiss that somehow feels more scandalous than if he’d shoved his tongue down Spock’s throat.

Then Spock is on the transporter pad, dissolving into his constituent atoms, and Jim feels his chest tighten for a reason he wishes he could explain. _Be careful, Spock… All of you, be careful._

* * *

It’s a beautiful planet, Zeta Tucanae III. Hikaru is marveling at the foliage and landscape as soon he’s completely formed on the surface, and so is everyone else. He imagines this is what the early Earth used to look like. It’s overgrown and wild, with enormous trees and giant ferns and incredible mountains. _It’s beautiful._ It takes a nudge from Teixeira to get him moving and assisting with getting their equipment set up. 

Once Spock has arrived, they test the equipment one more time, as well as their communications, and once everything is deemed to be in working order, the real fun can begin.

Well… it isn’t _all_ fun. Hikaru wouldn’t say that fastidiously collecting plant samples is the _most_ fun he could be having on this unexplored planet, but it’s better than being cooped up on the ship. It’s always fun to get out of the lab and into the field.

“You with it, Sulu?”

“Of course I am, Teixeira.”

“You were kinda zoned out there for a moment,” she replies, shrugging, “Hey, lemme ask you somethin’... since you’re always on the bridge I figure you might know.”

“Might know what?”

“What’s goin’ on with the captain?”

The look Hikaru gives her must be question enough because she rolls her eyes, says, “He’s been actin’ weird lately… weird for him anyway. Like- like he’s been kinda… I dunno… kinda out of it. Like that speech he gave us before we beamed down. That wasn’t his usual ‘rah-rah you are amazing explorers’ speech.”

“I can’t say you’re wrong, I suppose… It was kind of weird, now that I really think about it.”

“Has he been like that on the bridge?”

“I wouldn’t say so, no,” he replies, “He’s just been- well, he’s just been himself. Sometimes you can see he’s really deep in thought, but that’s not unusual. Is there something specific you heard about, Teixeira?”

“Nothin’ in particular, I guess… just the usual scuttlebutt around the ship. Y’know, someone in engineering heard from someone in botany heard from someone in tactical that the captain was being weird. Turns into the communicator game after a while.”

“Well, I’m on the bridge with the captain all the time, and I haven’t seen anything that concerns me-”

“I’ve seen something that concerns _me_ , and that’s the number of samples here!” Dr. Linton tells them, making them both jump at his sudden presence, “Come on now, it’s not like you two never see each other. We need more samples if we’re going to get a correct analysis of the plant life here. Snap to it!”

They don’t need to be told twice, and the conversation is scrapped in favor of doing the work they were sent to do.

Of course, it isn’t as though Hikaru was being _entirely_ honest with Teixeira anyway. The captain has certainly seemed… distracted lately. There have been a number of times where Hikaru or Chekov have had to repeat themselves for their lost-in-thought captain. That in itself is not unusual. Being on a starship can be boring sometimes. When you’re just flying through space between destinations, there isn’t a whole lot to do, so the stars zipping by can become pretty mesmerizing. It’s just been more frequent. _Then there’s the look he gets sometimes… it’s so sad…_ Captain Kirk is so rarely sad that when he is, Hikaru takes notice.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Hikaru focuses more clearly on collecting plant samples. The flora here isn’t the most spectacular he’s ever seen, not now that he’s closer to it. It’s just all really big. There are trees the size of skyscrapers, ferns like elephants, blooms bigger than his head. He gets to work: running the tricorder, gathering leaves and seed samples, making sure there are images for further study.

“Hey, Teixeira, do you have-”

But she isn’t there anymore. Straightening up, he looks harder. Maybe she’s kneeling, or she’s hidden by one of the giant ferns. Hikaru calls her name again, receives no answer. Looking at his tricorder, he realizes he’s wandered a pretty far distance from the rest of the team. _Well, that’s not good._ No one responds when he yells again, either, which is even worse. Quickly packing up his samples, Hikaru begins to make his way back to the group, hoping he isn’t too far. _The captain’s distraction is distracting me now, too._ The leaves above him rustle in the breeze, strange bird-like creatures calling out to one another, making a sudden racket-

He freezes, terror creeping through his mind. Birds don’t make noise like that unless they’re afraid of something, and they certainly haven’t been afraid of him. It suddenly occurs to him that the rustling wasn’t the leaves _above_ him.

It was the leaves _behind_ him.

* * *

“Where’s Sulu? He should be back already!”

Dr. Linton’s demand piques Spock’s interest, pulling him from the report he’s working on.

“Lieutenant Sulu is missing?”

“Yessir,” Linton replies, “Lieutenant Teixeira saw him last, but they split up at some point. Teixeira is back, but she hasn’t seen Sulu in some time.”

“Has he responded to calls on the communicator?”

“No, sir. It could be that the foliage here is simply too thick. It may be blocking signals, or perhaps the geology of the planet has some kind of special property that’s preventing us from contact.”

Spock looks into the thick jungle, folds his arms. _Sulu knows better than to wander off on his own, especially on an untested planet such as this. There’s no telling what-_

A sharp scream rends the air, making even Spock jump. Without thinking, he takes off into the forest, heading for the scream. He does not like the sight that greets him.

The beast attacking Sulu is huge, as tall as Spock while still on all fours, with an elongated snout bristling with sharp teeth. Its paws are equally large, tipped with deadly-looking claws, its hunched back sporting a thick ruff of dark green fur. Spock would have very much enjoyed getting a closer look at the creature if it were not about rip Sulu’s head off.

Setting his phaser to stun, he takes a few well-aimed shots at the beast, hitting it in the abdomen. It yelps, backs off of Sulu, looks for the source of the pain, locks eyes with Spock. _Shit._ Two other team members hurry in and pull Sulu away while the beast stares Spock down, yellow eyes unblinking.

The beast charges, lunging at Spock with such force it knocks them both over, the creature tumbling over him. The breath is knocked from Spock’s chest even before he hits the ground, leaving him struggling for air, and the fact that the force cracked some of his ribs doesn’t help. The beast has no such issues. It’s soon back on its feet, and Spock seems to be on its menu. He tries to scramble up, but his movements only seem to prod it into action. It lunges again, mouth open wide to reveal a gaping maw of teeth. Spock throws up an arm to protect his face and head. He can live without an arm; he needs his head.

And he may well be living without that arm. The beast nearly bites it off, its teeth easily puncturing the skin, his bone shattering under the impact. He bites back a scream of pain, tries to compartmentalize it. He does hear someone else scream. Reaching almost blindly, he tries to find some psi-points, hopes the creature is intelligent enough for him to briefly meld with, just enough to get it off of him. If it begins to shake its head, he’ll lose the arm for sure.

Phaser fire sounds through the forest, cutting through the haze of pain in Spock’s mind, sustained phaser fire. The beast lets go of his arm, intent again on killing whatever has dared to hurt it, but it must be able to see how many of them are there, to know it’s outnumbered, and finally, finally it leaves, bounding off into the jungle for an easier meal.

“Spock!”

Dr. Princewell runs over, their face showing clear concern and worry. Everything else is a blur, the pain burning through his arm and ringing through his mind. Dr. Princewell is shouting, calling for help and giving orders for a beam-up back to the ship. Spock doesn’t even realize he’s been beamed up until the harsh fluorescents hit his eyes.

* * *

“ _Dr. Princewell to Captain Kirk. I repeat, Princewell to Kirk._ ”

“This is Kirk, go ahead.”

“ _Sir, there’s been an incident on the surface of Zeta Tucanae III. Medical has already been alerted and all injured parties are being transported to Medical._ ”

“Injuries? What happened down there, Princewell?”

“ _Two members of the landing party were attacked by a large carnivore of some kind. It looked similar to a prehistoric Terran creature known as Andrewsarchus, almost canid in nature. It attacked Lieutenant Sulu first, and then Spock was badly injured while trying to assist Sulu. We eventually chased it off with sustained phaser fire._ ”

Jim’s stomach twists painfully. _Badly injured… how badly?_ He fights down his emotions, tries to keep his voice steady as he asks, “Any other information, Princewell?”

“ _No, sir. We’re finishing collection of all samples now. The whole team should be back on board shortly._ ”

“Thank you… Kirk out.”

His heart thumps painfully behind his ribs, his emotions roiling. This… This exact set of circumstances is precisely what Jim has been worried about. He manages, “Chekov, you have the conn,” before rising from his chair and heading into the turbolift. 

It seems to take ages for him to get to Medical, but once he’s there, he’s still afraid. Sulu at least appears to be in good spirits. Whatever kind of creature it was slashed him, but the cuts will heal easily under Dr. M’Benga’s care. Jim stops to chat with him, asking what happened.

“It’s my fault, sir,” Sulu tells him, averting his gaze, like a child who knows he did something wrong, “I wasn’t paying attention and wandered too far from the team. I’m lucky I was so close when the- the whatever-it-was attacked me, or I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not hurt too badly. It sounds to me like you should be thanking Mr. Spock.”

“Yessir… He was so fast… If anything, I should apologize to him. If it wasn’t for me, then he wouldn’t be hurt.”

A vicious thought rises up in Jim’s mind: _That’s right, Sulu. His injuries are your fault._ He fights the urge to shake his head. No, that’s not a good thought. It doesn’t belong here. This isn’t Sulu’s fault, not by a long shot, and he mustn’t allow himself to think that it is. Jim puts on the best smile he can, not too big but trying to be sincere, and tells Sulu, “I don’t think Spock will see it that way. Get well.”

Sulu gives him the smallest of smiles in return, and that does ease his heart a little. Jim is angry, but he has no right to be angry with Sulu. This was an accident. Accidents happen… but how many more accidents will Jim have to preside over? How many more letters will he have to write to family members? How many more funeral services will he and the chaplain have to present?

And this time it was almost Spock. Any death on the ship is hard. They’re all like family at this point, but if there’s one person on this ship Jim couldn’t keep living without, it’s Spock.

“There ya are, Jim.”

McCoy walks over, not smiling but not grim either. _That bodes well… sort of._

“How is he, Bones?” Jim asks quietly.

“He’ll live, if that’s what you’re worried about,” McCoy tells him, “And he won’t lose his arm. Bone was pretty much shattered and the skin was torn up, but he should be good as new in a week or so if he stays in here with me.”

“Can I see him?”

“He’s in that Vulcan healing trance of his, which is probably best for him right now. He was certainly in a lot of pain when he came in, and you know the painkillers don’t always work well on him. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow, though.”

Jim says nothing, just looking at his friend. McCoy holds up for a few seconds, before going, “Dammit Jim, you know I can’t stand them damn puppy dog eyes you give me...You can look in on him, but that’s it! I want him to heal quick, and you wakin’ him up won’t help, got it?”

“Yeah, Bones, I got it.”

Spock doesn’t look the _worst_ Jim’s ever seen him. There are a couple of small cuts and scrapes on his face and arms, but it’s his left arm that looks truly horrible. He can see where the creature’s teeth split the skin, the wounds still open so the bone knitter can have better access to healing the shattered fragments. Jim can’t see what those bones looked like, and he isn’t sure he wants to. There’s a reason he’s not a doctor, after all.

“He’s gonna be alright, Jim,” McCoy tells him softly, “I’m takin’ care of him.”

“I know… I know you are…”

“There’s been somethin’ bothering you for a while now. You wanna talk about it? We can go in my office-”

“No. Thank you… no.”

McCoy lets it go, one of his gifts being to know when to stop pushing in these kinds of situations. Jim stands by him at the window, looking in on the man he loves, the man who almost died today.

* * *

Herschel blinks, looks at his scanners again, finally beckoning the Science Officer on duty over to his station. Joshi leans over, and she also has to look a few times before comprehending.

“These readings…” she murmurs, “I don’t like them one bit.”

“Me neither. They don’t look good.”

“Record all this, Herschel. The captain will want to know about this.”

* * *

“No!”

Jim shoots up, his breath coming in sharp gasps, sweat cooling on his face. The nightmares have been getting worse. They’d tapered off for a bit right after the death of Governor Kodos, as he’d expected. It’s a little easier to sleep when the man who murdered four thousand people in front of you dies himself. That was five years ago now.

_It’s been twenty-five years since Tarsus IV now… twenty-five._ It’s incredible to think about. There are times when Tarsus IV seems like it was thousands of years ago, something Jim is so far removed from he can barely remember it. Then there are the other times, nights when the smell of death gets stuck in his nose and the sound of phaser rifle fire won’t leave his ears. He can hear the people screaming and pleading for their lives as clearly as if he were there again.

Tonight is one of those nights.

He hasn’t had a nightmare about Tarsus in almost two years, not even around the anniversary of the massacre. Lately, though, they’ve been happening almost every night. They’re always the same now, but different from the ones before.

His nightmares of Tarsus used to be simple. They’d just been about what actually happened. Jim was picked to die, corralled into the town square, shot at by a crowd of Kodos’ secret police. Jim escaped the massacre and ran into the wilderness with a group of children. Jim and all those children nearly starved to death.

Now… Now he’s a ‘chosen one,’ handpicked by Kodos to succeed him, brought to the balcony to watch and to choose who gets to live and who must die. No matter how much he weeps and begs, Kodos doesn’t relent, forcing him to take part in this horrible choosing. In some of them, he’s even forced to give the order to kill. 

He knows this isn’t what happened. He was chosen for death, just like four thousand others, and by some stroke of grace, he happened to live. He was _not_ a pawn of Kodos. He was _not_ chosen by him (except to die).

His hand reaches over of its own accord, searching for another’s hand. _Spock-_ ... But Spock isn’t here. He’s in sickbay. Jim tries to swallow his tears, wishing his love was here and not in a biobed in a healing coma. _I need you, Spock… I need you._ He can’t swallow all the tears.

* * *

Spock comes to with a start, his healing trance ending and sending him into swift wakefulness. He looks around, blinking, steadying his heart rate. He’s alone. There are voices outside, muffled, quiet. It was nice of McCoy to put him in a private room… though he struggles to remember why he’s here in sickbay at all.

“Good, you’re awake.”

McCoy comes in with a nurse whose name escapes Spock currently, and while the nurse gets right to work checking his vitals, McCoy asks, “How ya feelin’ today, Spock?”

“Tired,” he answers truthfully, “My left arm is in a fair amount of pain, as well.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Not-... not fully. I recall being on Zeta Tucanae III… and then Sulu- Is Sulu alright?”

“Sulu’s just fine. Had some scratches, that’s all really. He’ll be back on the bridge in another day. What kind of pain are you feelin’ in your arm? Sharp? Burning? Stabbing?”

“Burning… though there is a stabbing quality to it.”

“That’d be your bones knitting back together,” McCoy tells him matter-of-factly, “You’re lucky, Spock, awful lucky. You coulda lost that arm if you weren’t brought up here quick. As it is, in the coming months, you need to tell me if you’re having any problems with it: pain, loss of sensation, tingling, anything like that, understood?”

“Yes, Doctor. What happened?”

“You got bit by some- I dunno, I never saw it. Sulu said it kinda looked like a hyena got crossed with a wolf and then got super-sized. It attacked him, and you went and saved him. It chomped down on your arm, though, and those giant hyena-wolf jaws just about shattered your arm bones in every way imaginable. Ripped up the skin, too. I’ve just got the bone knitter workin’ now. Once I’m certain the bones are healed alright, then we’ll get the dermal regenerator goin’ to repair the skin. You’ll be here with me for a few more days, a week tops.”

“My duties on the bridge-”

“-are being taken care of,” McCoy says sternly, overriding his protest, “Your only duty right now is to heal, and my duty is to see that you do.”

Spock looks to his left, finally fully realizes the extent to which he _has_ to heal, and he certainly knows this is one fight the doctor is going to win. His expression must show enough defeat for McCoy to see because he cheers somewhat, saying, “That’s a good patient, Spock. Now then, all your vitals look fine. I forgot to mention that you had some cracked ribs in there, too. Got those healed up first thing, since they’re easier to heal than tiny little bone fragments. Once we have you sitting up in a couple days, you might have some residual achiness there, so don’t worry. You didn’t have any other internal injuries, just some minor blood loss. Since we take some of your blood for storage every month, this wasn’t a big deal. Only used one bag.”

“So once my arm is fully healed, I will be released from sickbay?” Spock queries.

“I suppose I could assign you some light duty if you get too annoying…” he teases gently, “but fully healed is my plan for you, yeah. Like I said, a week tops.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Of course. Like I said, you just focus on healing… Oh, are you up to any visitors? Jim’s been up my ass tryin’ to get in to see ya.”

“Perhaps later today,” Spock answers.

“Alright, I’ll tell him he can come in the afternoon. Need anything else? Thirsty? Hungry?”

“I would like some water.”

“I’ll send the nurse in a moment.”

McCoy gifts him a true smile, one that’s gentle, his hand carefully squeezing the shoulder of Spock’s uninjured arm, and then he leaves the room. Spock takes a deep breath, feels the ache in his ribs McCoy mentioned he might. He’s grateful the angle he’s laying at prevents him from seeing the inside of his arm. Even his notoriously strong constitution might not be able to handle that. Of course, once McCoy leaves, save for the nurse who comes in to help him drink the water he requested, he’s quite alone. 

He doesn’t want to worry Jim, not right now. Jim hasn’t been sleeping well, after all, has been plagued by horrible nightmares he won’t tell Spock about, though Spock is a smart enough man to guess. _Even the small speech he gave to us yesterday before we beamed down seemed troubled._ Jim has always been a good man, one primarily concerned with the safety of his crew, and when even one is hurt or killed, it eats at him.

“Spock?”

McCoy is back. Spock looks to the chronometer and is startled to see that it’s afternoon already. McCoy steps into the room fully and closes the door, stepping over to Spock’s bedside.

“Spock, Jim’s here to see you,” he says quietly, “I can let him in, but if you aren’t feeling up to it you just say the word, okay?”

“How is the captain?”

“Seems pretty worried about ya, but that’s not unusual for him.”

“I would like to see him, I think… for a little while anyway.”

McCoy simply nods. Jim hurries in like he hasn’t seen Spock in weeks, coming straight to his bedside and grabbing his hand. As much as Spock loves him, he wishes he wouldn’t just now. The healing trance took a lot out of him. His mental shields aren’t at their best, and Jim’s concern and worry is overwhelming… and anger? The mere presence of Jim’s anger makes Spock’s rise, and suddenly Jim pulls his hands away like he’s been burned.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” Spock says quickly, “I-... I am not fully healed. My telepathic shields-”

“No… no it’s fine, Spock…”

But he can sense that it’s not.

* * *

_He’s angry with me? Why the hell is he angry with me?_ Jim hasn’t done anything, not that he knows of. It isn’t his fault he didn’t come earlier; McCoy told him he couldn’t. He takes a moment to collect himself, says, “I’m sorry… Bones told me you didn’t want any visitors earlier.”

“That was correct. I did not wish to have visitors.”

He isn’t looking at Jim. The anger is still perplexing until a horrid thought stalks its way into Jim’s brain. _He’s angry I sent him down to get hurt._ And the fact that Spock is angry with him makes him angry in turn, because how dare Spock be upset with him over something that isn’t his fault? The old nightmares begin to rear their ugly heads, though, a spike of fear driving itself into Jim’s mind, and before he knows it, his anger turns to fear: fear that Spock hates him, fear that he wants to be rid of him, fear that he doesn’t love him anymore.

“Spock, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would get hurt or that Sulu would get hurt or-... I didn’t know-”

“Of course you didn’t know. You are not omnipotent, Captain. You cannot know everything.”

_No, I can’t… who can know everything?_ Something in Spock’s tone seems to suggest he thinks Jim _should_ know everything, though, or at least expect everything. How can he know that this is Jim’s worst nightmare come to reality? How can he know Jim would rather die than send one more person to their death on a faraway planet in a faraway part of the galaxy, especially Spock? 

Anger, illogical though it is, rises up in Jim’s chest again, hot and vicious. He clenches his jaw, trying to hold back the words, doesn’t want to fight with Spock while Spock is in a biobed, but it isn’t working. This isn’t all _his_ fault. Spock wouldn’t be in the biobed if he didn’t have to go around being some kind of big hero sacrificing himself for every crewmember who happened to be in danger.

“And you, Spock? Can you know everything?”

“I am not omnipotent, either, Captain.”

The use of his title makes it even worse.

“Clearly not… or you wouldn’t be in this situation now, _Mr._ Spock,” he grinds out, also using Spock’s title (because two can play at that game).

“To which situation are you referring?”

Spock’s voice is still the same calm tone it always is, and no one but Jim (and maybe McCoy) would be able to hear the tense undercurrent.

“I believe that situation should be obvious. You’re the one in sickbay with your arm half ripped off because you had to play the hero-”

“You think I did this for recognition?”

Spock’s expression is incredulous, but Jim can’t stop himself, his anger and frustration coming to a head.

“Yes! All the time, Spock! You’re always so willing to jump into danger, even if it means injury, even if it means death, with no regard for anyone’s feelings-”

“Perhaps you should not be so hypocritical, Captain-”

“Hypocritical?”

Jim knows how loud his voice is. Someone will alert McCoy soon, and then he’ll have some explaining to do. He can’t think about that right now, though, not with the fury pulsing through his mind.

“Yes, hypocritical,” Spock tells him, in a tone Jim recognizes as righteous anger, “Just how many times have you thrown yourself into danger without regard for others’ feelings on the subject?”

“This isn’t about me right now, Spock. I’m not the one in sickbay!”

“Mr. Sulu was-”

“God _dammit_ , Spock! This isn’t about Sulu, this is about _you_! Why? Why did you have to do this?”

“If I had not jumped in to save him, then Mr. Sulu would be dead-”

“And what about you, hmm? What if you died? You think I’d rather see you dead than Sulu-?”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, before he can even begin to think of stopping them. As soon as they do, though, he’s horrified. Jim clamps a hand over his mouth, tears springing to his eyes. Spock’s expression changes infinitesimally, to something Jim recognizes as pity. Jim hates himself. He hates that he would even think such a thing, let alone say it out loud… and he hates it even more that he knows it’s true.

“What the hell is goin’ on in here?”

Saying nothing else to Spock (and certainly saying nothing to McCoy), Jim turns and hurries out of the room… 

Or he would have if the ship didn’t suddenly and violently lurch, damn near knocking him off his feet along with everyone else. The lights flicker. Spock gives a sharp gasp, the sudden shift likely jolting his arm and causing him pain. Part of Jim wants to rush to him, but after their shouting match, he decides against it. _After what I said, why would Spock ever want to speak to me again?_

Instead, he hurries to Engineering. Scotty is already bellowing orders from his console, hands furiously flying across all the panels and knobs and buttons and screens, desperately trying to find the answer.

“Scotty, what the hell was that?”

“I’m not sure yet, Cap’n,” he answers, not looking at Jim, “I’m just as surprised as the next person. We had plenty of fuel, power, everything! There’s no reason we should’ve stopped like that- Dammit, Starling, where’s my report!”

* * *

The sudden lurching of the ship jostles Spock’s injured arm, pulls a pained gasp from his lips before he can stop himself. He sees Jim, sees the hesitation in his eyes before he runs from the small room… runs away from Spock.

McCoy is still with him, hands still clinging to the side of the biobed where he was thrown, knuckles white. Spock desperately hopes he will simply go away, will concern himself with the state of the sickbay after such a sudden stop, but he has no such luck.

“Spock, what the hell was all that about?” he asks, “Why the hell was Jim shouting at you like that? I could hear his voice from my office!”

“I-... I would prefer not to discuss the matter, Doctor,” Spock replies, hoping his friend will leave it that and not push further.

He should know Dr. McCoy better than that.

“He has no right to shout at you like that while you’re in this kind of condition. Look, you’re actually registering a blood pressure, that’s how annoyed he got you-”

“I am not annoyed-”

“Upset, then-”

“I am not upset-”

“That’s _bullshit_. I’m your doctor, Spock, and more than that, I’m your friend. I’ve spent five years learning how to read you, and I like to think I do a pretty good job of it,” McCoy tells him, “That said… You’re upset.”

Spock’s gaze shifts away from McCoy’s. Of course he’s upset. He just doesn’t really know what’s upsetting him most. That’s really the worst of it.

Jim’s anger was what started it all, anger he felt through their touch as viscerally as if it were his own, but now that he thinks about it, he doesn't know where the anger was directed. It very well could have been directed at Spock for putting himself in danger. It could have also been toward Sulu for being attacked. (This wasn’t ideal, either, as it wasn’t Sulu’s fault he was attacked.) The anger could have just been a general anger for the situation, and that wouldn’t be so bad. Spock supposes he feels anger at the whole situation, as well. He isn’t exactly happy to have his arm half-ripped off, though he’s pleased to have been able to save Sulu.

Does that mean he has a hero complex of some kind? Did he feel anything other than relief at hearing Sulu wasn’t badly injured? He certainly doesn’t do something like this for attention. He doesn’t even particularly like it when all eyes are on him. It reminds him too fiercely of being the only hybrid on Vulcan, growing up with everyone watching him, waiting for him either to succeed beautifully or fail miserably. He’d absolutely hated all the attention then, and he’d hated it being the only Vulcan at Starfleet Academy, because everyone there was only watching him so closely for the exact same reasons they did on Vulcan. 

“Spock?”

He blinks, looks up, realizes McCoy hasn’t left the room yet. His blue eyes gaze deep into Spock’s, somehow always able to look directly into a person’s soul. Concern rolls off him in waves. Spock can feel it even though they aren’t touching.

“I apologize, McCoy. I was-... I was deep in thought.”

“I noticed. Is it something you’d like to talk about?” he asks gently.

“Not at the moment, no.”

McCoy chews his lip briefly, and he looks like he wants to argue, to push the matter further, but he seems to decide against it.

“Alright, Spock… you just let me know when you do. You know as well as I do it isn’t good to keep things all bottled up. I’m always here.”

Spock simply nods. McCoy takes it as the answer it is, and he leaves, giving Spock’s shoulder another firm squeeze before he leaves. Something twists painfully in his gut as he watches him leave, but he doesn’t have a name for it. Does he want to be alone?

The answer, of course, is no. He does not want to be alone.

He wants Jim here with him.

He wants everything to return to the way it was just yesterday, with Jim at his side, with his love radiating off of him like a sun, with quick kisses both Terran and Vulcan shared in secret. He closes his eyes against the treacherous tears threatening to fall.

He just wants Jim here with him.

* * *

Nyota tries everything. She hits every combination of buttons possible, checks every frequency.

“Uhura, c’mon, get us a frequency!” Benitez shouts, having abandoned the captain’s chair to assist the temporary Science officer at her station.

“Sir, I’m trying!” she calls back over the din of reports, “There’s nothing! None of the usual frequencies are working!”

“ _None_ of them?”

“No, nothing!”

She clamps down the panic. She’s been in these situations before. There’s always something she can do, some way she can get through to another ship, a planet, something, _anything_ . Taking a deep breath and steadying her hand, she returns to the panel. _Run through the frequencies again. Try every pattern again. You know what to do._

After the second trials, she calls for the captain.

“ _Captain Kirk here, what is it, Lieutenant?_ ”

“Sir, communications have been cut off. I can’t get anything on any frequency at the moment,” she reports, “It could be that whatever stopped the ship has temporarily seized up the communications boards.”

“ _Keep trying. I’m in Engineering with Scotty trying to figure out what happened. How’s the bridge?_ ”

“We’re all working on reports, sir. Nothing as yet.”

“ _Let me know when you find something. Kirk out._ ”

The connection cuts. Nyota takes another deep breath. _Run through the frequencies again. Try every pattern again. You know what to do._ She’ll get the answers eventually. They always do on the Enterprise. She reaches out, inputting codes into her system again.

* * *

“Everyone, report.”

None of the reports are promising. Scotty can’t explain why the ship is suddenly completely dead. Uhura can’t explain why their communications systems won’t work. No one seems to have any answers for anything at all, and Jim is doing his damndest to hide his frustration. _My crew is doing everything they can. I can’t be angry with them._ They don’t deserve that.

“Keep working at it. I know we’ll come up with an answer soon,” Jim tells them, “We just-... Let’s keep working at it. Dismissed.”

Everyone leaves, filing slowly out of the conference room… everyone except McCoy. And of course, McCoy is the one person Jim would prefer not to speak with at the moment. McCoy’s gaze is one of his hard ones, one that indicates his disapproval with something Jim has done.

“Well, Bones, are you gonna say anything? Or just stand there and glare at me like I slapped you?” Jim asks sharply.

“Oh, it isn’t my feelings you need to be worried about, Jim,” McCoy replies, “Spock’s, on the other hand-”

“What about Spock?”

“He’s miserable after that display in there. Hell, I could hear you yellin’ your head off from my office! And any fool on this ship could see Spock was hurt by whatever you said-”

“Your point, Doctor?”

“ _My point_ , Jim, is that Spock is already physically injured, already got his- his mental shields down from trying to heal, and you had to go in there and- for some godforsaken reason- start berating him! What on _earth_ could he have done to warrant the kind of tongue-lashing you gave him in there?”

“He didn’t-... It’s not-...”

What can he even say? It’s certainly not something he wants to talk about here and now and not with McCoy. So Jim gets to his feet, desperate to avoid having this conversation, telling McCoy, “Doctor, I have other things to do. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of something like a crisis. If we can’t get this ship moving, and moving soon, then we’re going to be in a great deal of trouble that I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you.”

McCoy purses his lips but says nothing. Wanting to put a definitive end to the conversation for the time being, Jim orders, “Go tend to your patients in sickbay,” before leaving the conference room himself.

But he doesn’t know where to go or what to do. With Spock in the sickbay, it’s like missing his right arm. He _needs_ Spock, not just privately but here, dealing with day-to-day ship’s business and certainly now while they’re in a crisis. Spock would have information and insight and assistance, a calming presence and a cool head. Maybe he would be able to come up with answers. _How can I go to him now, after what I said?_

Those words are going to haunt him for the rest of his life. How could he speak that way about not only Spock, someone he dearly loves, but about another member of his crew? He knows damn well he would be utterly devastated if Sulu had died. He’s devastated every single time he loses a member of his crew, no matter how long he’s known them or how well. How many times has he gone to see McCoy with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat? How many times has Spock seen him break down over his crew’s injuries? He had no right to say what he did. No right… and Spock knew it, too.

* * *

There’s a soft, hesitant knock at the door to his treatment room, and Spock looks up.

“Mr. Sulu?”

“Hello, Mr. Spock… may I come in?”

Spock simply nods his head. Sulu steps all the way in, half-closing the door behind him and sitting in the chair beside Spock’s biobed. He fidgets nervously, picking at the hem of his patient’s robe and pointedly not looking at Spock. The robe hangs open, the wound on his chest largely healed but not completely.

“Are you well, Mr. Sulu?” Spock asks, deciding to get the conversation started.

“I am, Spock. Thank you… But I should be asking you how you’re feeling,” Sulu replies, finally looking up at him, face red, “I should be thanking you. You saved my life down there.”

“There’s no need for thanks-”

“There is. I-... Thank you, Spock, for saving me. You could have died yourself. You didn’t have to step in-”

“I did. I won’t allow anyone to die when I am able to prevent it.”

Sulu just nods, casting his gaze back to his lap. _I’m sure he heard the captain shouting earlier._ Jim had not exactly been quiet while unleashing his anger on Spock. McCoy hadn’t seemed to have heard the exact wording of it, and he sincerely hopes Sulu hadn’t either.

“Are you alright, Spock?”

“I am recovering, Mr. Sulu,” Spock replies, pauses, tells him, “This is not your fault. Please understand that.”

Another nod. Sulu stays a little while longer, the two of them discussing the ship stopping and passing a few theories back and forth, though their knowledge of the situation is limited. Only when Nurse Chapel comes to check on Spock does Sulu leave, and he seems in marginally better spirits than when he arrived thirty minutes before.

“I’m glad he came to talk to you,” Chapel says, “He’s been pretty down… felt pretty guilty for getting you hurt-”

“He shouldn’t feel guilt. This was not his fault.”

“I’m sure he’s not looking at the situation quite as logically as you are, Mr. Spock… Alright, I’m gonna take a good look at that arm of yours, just hold still…”

She is as efficient and careful as ever, gently examining his wounded arm and taking down some notes on the datapad, then adjusting the settings on the bone knitter.

“Looks to me like you’re healing up just fine, Spock,” she tells him, “Nurse Brockton will be in in about… forty-five minutes with some dinner for you. Until then, is there anything else I can get for you right now?”

“No thank you, Nurse Chapel,” he replies, “There is nothing I require.”

It’s not quite true, but it isn’t truly a lie. The one thing he wants right now is not something Nurse Chapel can obtain for him. He lays back and closes his eyes as she leaves, and he lets himself dream. He imagines a warm laugh in his ear, a bright smile, strong arms around him. He imagines hot fingertips dancing over his skin, lips trailing in their wake with scalding heat. His uninjured hand fists itself in the blanket. And then, a whisper in his ear. He can almost feel the desperate, humid breath on his skin.

“ _Spock… tell me what you want-_ ”

“Mr. Spock? I’ve brought your dinner.”

Spock’s eyes snap open, and he quickly adjusts himself on the bed to hide the erection he daydreamed himself into before Nurse Brockton comes in. That’s not something he really wants the rest of the ship gossiping about. Brockton is polite, asking about how Spock feels with a kind smile, still a young man but certainly a good one.

“I am well, thank you,” he replies as Brockton sets the tray down and assists him in sitting up.

“Hmm, you look much better. You were very pale when I saw you yesterday, even after you woke up, but today you have some color in your cheeks. Do you think you’ll need any help eating?”

“I do not know as yet.”

Brockton dutifully stands by, waiting to see if Spock will require assistance, but he needs none, slowly eating until everything is gone. At that point, Brockton takes the tray and disappears from the room. Spock is alone once more. He’s beginning to hate being alone.

* * *

Jim leans forward, scrubbing his hands over his face, agitation and fear fighting it out for dominance in his chest. _This cannot be happening. This has to be some kind of terrible dream or an alien fucking with my head or_ something _because there’s no way this is really happening._ He picks up his head, looks at Scotty, asks, “Give me a status update, Mr. Scott.”

The expression on his engineer’s face is far from hopeful as he explains, “We just don’t know why this happened, Cap’n… but it couldn’t have been at a worse time. You know as well as I do the replicators need to be updated with fresh supplies in order to keep making food, not to mention we need to refuel and do a quick engine overhaul.”

“I know all that, Scotty. I want to know how-... how long, Scotty?”

He doesn’t voice the rest of the question: How long can we last before we all die? Scotty sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, but he doesn't reply right away, likely thinking of the best way to say something Jim knows isn’t going to be good. 

“Honestly? If we start rationing use of the replicators now, programming them to prepare only the most essential and efficient foods and restricting usage, we can likely make the stores last another month. That’s with three meals a day, so if we cut that down to two, we could make it go a bit longer. But in a month, that’s when our auxiliary power is gonna start to run out, so no matter what we do, we’ve got about… six or seven weeks to come up with an answer or have Starfleet find us floating out here.”

“This is a very empty portion of space, Scotty. Will Starfleet even think to look here?” Jim asks, “And how long will they look before we’re simply declared missing or dead?”

“You’d know more about that than I would, sir. Should I start reprogramming the replicators?”

Just the thought of rationing has Jim’s skin crawling, something cold picking its way up his spine. _Six weeks was all it took to lead people to a massacre back then._

“Sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Scott,” Jim says flatly, “Start reprogramming the replicators.”

The words don’t sit right in his mouth, heavy and metallic and awful. _But I’m not like him. I’m not. This won’t turn out the same way because I won't let it._

“Do we have _any_ idea why the engines shut down?”

“I haven’t found anything wrong with them, Cap’n. My best guess right now is the portion of space we’re in must be a- a dead zone, something zipping through space that just doesn’t like the kind of energy we’re using or our communications arrays. Computers on board are working fine because they’re insulated a bit better, but everything else the energy just neutralizes.”

“Do you think there’s any way to overcome it? To- To change our energy signature to confuse… whatever it is?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything to confuse,” Scotty tells him, “I don’t know if there’s an actual entity out there. Could just be-... energy, like something shot off a pulsar or something. Trying to confuse it could be like trying to- to confuse the wind or electricity.”

_[“You can’t negotiate with a blight! We need to take action!”]_

Jim shakes the memory from his mind, says, “Alright… alright… I’ll get the personnel officer working on new quartering arrangements, as well. We should try to preserve all the power we have and being able to shut off certain decks would help.”

“Aye, it would.”

Jim bids Scotty farewell, leaving him to his work and heading for his quarters. His heart is beating faster than it should, has been for several minutes now, and he knows he needs to go calm himself before he deals with anything else. The only thing he manages to do when he gets into his quarters is call the personnel officer with orders about adjusting quarters for everyone, but that’s all he manages.

His heartbeat is too fast, his breathing too shallow, and it suddenly feels like his chest is caught in a vice. _Not now, not now, not now-_

* * *

Spock winces as his chest tightens uncomfortably, his free hand coming up to rub at it absentmindedly.

“What is it, Spock?”

McCoy stands in the doorway, looking at him with concern, and Spock bites back a sigh. He should be free from the sick bay soon, nearly a week having passed since his injury. His arm is out of machinery now, at least, and he’s grateful not to have to be tethered to the bone knitter anymore. _Though I may prefer the bone knitter over the conversation I’m about to have with McCoy._ The next sigh finds its way out.

“Please close the door, Doctor,” he says quietly.

McCoy quickly obeys and comes to Spock’s side, lowering himself into the chair at his bedside and waiting fairly patiently for him to speak. Spock, however, finds himself hesitating. He isn’t sure what he wants to say, what he should say, not even what he’d wanted to tell McCoy just now.

“Spock…” McCoy says finally, his tone soft, “What did you and Jim fight about? Whatever it is has Jim all outta sorts, and it has you all outta sorts, too.”

“I-... I’m unsure…”

“Just say it bluntly, Spock. That’s usually how you do it, and it usually works.”

“The captain-... Jim seemed to be under the impression that I am… careless with my personal safety in order to ‘play the hero’, and he did not take kindly to my pointing out that he, too, can be careless with himself when others are in danger,” Spock says slowly, “I suppose the words themselves haven’t bothered me. I know he was speaking from a place of fear and worry.”

“But you were angry at the time.”

“At the time, yes, I was upset with him. I’m more worried for him now.”

“Something he said a week ago has you worried?” McCoy asks.

“Only because of how he reacted to his own words. He-... He upset himself, and he was certainly already upset when he came into the room to see me. Most of the argument was in regard to not caring for own personal safeties, but then…”

He hesitates to even say it. He knows McCoy won’t think any less of Jim, but he almost still can’t believe Jim even said such a thing. McCoy is looking at him with worry.

“Doctor, I hope you will keep my next words a secret. Consider them under your doctor-patient privilege.”

McCoy agrees, and so Spock takes a deep breath.

“He mentioned… He spoke of fearing for me, and when I said that what I had done was necessary in order to save Mr. Sulu, his outburst-... I believe his exact words were, ‘You think I’d rather see you dead than Sulu,’ and then he seemed to realize what he had said… and he did not feel good about those words. When you entered the room, that was when I believe it fully hit him, and he fled from me.”

McCoy’s expression is unreadable, but it’s far from the apoplectic anger Spock had expected to see. He seems to be in thought, so Spock waits.

“It makes sense, I suppose. I can sorta see where he’s comin’ from, even,” McCoy says at long last, “He loves you, Spock. He worries about you, worries every time you beam down to some unknown situation without him. Don’t you feel the same way?”

“Of course I do.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can even contemplate them.

“Mr. Spock, you know humans aren’t the most logical of creatures, and when we get upset like that, well, we’re liable to say whatever we’re feeling without thinking about those words first. And we aren’t perfect, either. It’s natural to-... to feel relief when you hear someone you care about is okay even if someone else was hurt or killed. Like… Like if you knew that person was on a shuttle and you heard that shuttle crashed. It’s perfectly normal to be upset when they say people died and then feel relief when you find out that person wasn’t one of them.”

“I understand that, Doctor, but what is your point?”

“My _point_ , Spock, is that we try not to look too deeply at that dark little part of our hearts,” he replies, “We know it’s there, but it’s selfish, so we don’t like to admit it’s there. Jim is just like anyone else in that regard, and because he got upset, he found out himself it was there without realizing it, and he didn’t like that he has that same little selfish bit everyone else does. He especially didn’t like that he said it out loud.”

_I suppose that makes sense._ Jim is just as human as any other Terran on the ship, perhaps even moreso than most. McCoy reaches out and squeezes his shoulder in the comforting way he does, saying, “I’ll talk to Jim soon- Not about what we just talked about, but in general. See if I can help him. He’s had some kinda bee in his bonnet for a while now, but he’s too mule-headed to tell me what’s going on.”

Spock finds himself replying, “He’s been having nightmares,” and when McCoy looks at him questioningly, he adds, “but he won’t tell me what they’re about.”

A moment passes between them where they simply look at one another, and McCoy tells him, “Look, I know the two of you are, uh, together, so that’s why I’m gonna ask this, knowing what I’ve come to know about Vulcans… Have you melded with him recently?”

“Not precisely, no.... but there is a certain… connection that comes when we engage in-... in physical relations… and we’ve had enough melds over the years that we have a certain level of connection regardless of proximity.”

“Can you feel what he feels?”

“Not completely. Just sensations, especially if we aren’t together.”

“You seemed like you had some discomfort when I came in,” McCoy says, “Could that discomfort have been from Jim?”

“It’s entirely possible, Doctor, but I cannot be certain.”

They haven’t been properly linked, not by ceremony, not in the way his parents were once upon a time, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t deeply connected. It’s been this way for years now. Even before they knew they loved one another the way they do now, there had always been love of one kind or another between Spock and Jim.

“I’ll go talk to him later and see what I can figure out. You rest, Spock. You’ll be outta here soon enough. Don’t worry.”

McCoy’s tone is gentle, far removed from the gruff tone he normally uses with Spock, and it calms him enough to relax.

* * *

Jim blinks, looks around, blinks again. _Where am I?_ Oh yes, the governor’s mansion. He’s on Tarsus IV, acting as lieutenant governor to Kodos. Of course.

“James, my boy,” Kodos says cheerfully, beckoning him over, “I have something to discuss with you. Come…”

Jim obediently follows. Kodos has worked wonders on Tarsus IV, after all, and if Jim wants to make more political moves (like starship captain), this is a good place to learn and a good man to learn from.

“Yes, governor?” he asks lightly, wondering what his lesson will be today.

“I’m afraid it concerns this blight, James. You know as well as I do we won’t be able to keep going like this for long.”

“Yessir… but shouldn’t we send for aid from Starfleet? Surely they would be able to assist us.”

Jim has lots of friends in Starfleet and knows the kinds of people they are, but he also knows what he’s just said is no more than a perfunctory statement.

“We could, yes… but why involve them in our affairs, James? Are we not intelligent men? Can we not take care of this problem on our own?”

“I suppose so, yessir.”

“Well then, let us handle it ourselves.”

Jim starts to get a strange feeling in his gut, something twisting and anticipatory, but he says nothing, simply following Kodos to his balcony. Surely it’s nothing more than hunger. Everyone is hungry these days, even those who live in the governor’s mansion.

“The problem, at the current moment, James, is that there are too many people in our colony,” Kodos says slowly, “We simply don’t have enough resources for all of them.”

“We could… if we can ration-”

“Rationing? My dear boy, that won’t do us any good at all,” Kodos tells him, and the anticipation twisting in Jim’s gut gets stronger, something niggling evilly at the back of his mind, “There are too many people. No, rationing hasn’t done us any good so far, and it won’t do us any good in the future. I think you know what we need to do, James.”

He shouldn’t say it, but he’s interested to know if he and Kodos are thinking the same thing.

“Yessir,” he says calmly, “We need to get rid of some of the people.”

“Precisely. Come, I’ve prepared the way for you.”

Kodos grins at him, evil and sharp. Jim follows. They step out onto the balcony, and Jim looks down at the gathered crowd.

_Spock?_

* * *

An alarm pulls Leonard from his sleep, one of the night nurses calling for him over the ship’s intercom, “ _Sir, it’s Spock! His vitals just spiked! We can’t figure out what’s wrong!_ ”

He barely puts his uniform before he’s rushing to sickbay. Spock is sitting up in bed, hunched over, breathing in gasps and shaking. Leonard darts forward, demanding, “Spock, what’s wrong? What’s going on? Tell me!”

“It-... It’s Jim!”

Leonard swears, orders the nurse to keep a close watch over Spock, and then he’s sprinting to Jim’s quarters, smashing the keypad and yelling his medical override code. Inside, Jim is thrashing in bed, unintelligible noises of pain and fear pouring from his lips, whimpers and moans. Leonard is at his side in an instant.

“Jim!” he calls desperately, “Jim, wake up! Wake up! _Jim_!”

He wakes finally with an aborted cry, the sound choked in its ending. His eyes show that he isn’t all there yet, glazed and faraway. His body is so tense it looks like it hurts. _Jim…_ Leonard speaks to him quietly, carefully, treats him the way one would a wild animal. It’s a long moment before something clicks back into place.

“Bones?”

“Yes, Jim, it’s me… Are you alright?”

He expects Jim to start laughing and brush him off. He expects Jim to tell him he’s fine and it was just a little bad dream. He expects Jim to tell him to go back to bed or to ask for a drink or to start yelling. 

He certainly doesn’t expect Jim’s expression to crumple, tears spilling down his cheeks, and his voice to come out as a whimper, “No… No… Bones-”

And if Leonard McCoy hadn’t expected that, he certainly doesn’t expect his own name to be cut off in a sob as Jim himself crumples, curling in on himself. It’s almost second nature for Leonard to pull his friend into his arms, easily scooping him close. Jim tucks his face against Leonard’s neck, his breath humid over his skin, tears soaking into his shirt. 

“What happened?” he asks softly, “What was it, Jim?”

Jim only shakes his head, an action Leonard feels more than sees. Sighing, knowing he’s never going to get any other answer, he holds Jim a little tighter and rubs his back, murmuring, “You’re okay now, Jim… I gotcha… I gotcha right here… You’re safe now, Jim…”

Jim just nestles in tighter, still crying, clinging to Leonard like he might disappear at any moment.

“You’re safe, Jim…”

* * *

Spock suddenly starts breathing easier, the weight lifting from his chest and mind. The nurse looks incredibly relieved, though she certainly couldn’t be more relieved than he, not now that he’s actually able to breathe again. The screaming in his mind has quieted too, Jim likely awakened from whatever nightmare plagued him, and with the screaming not as bad, it’s much easier to block the emotions coming from his partner. 

Jim has had a number of terrible nightmares lately, horror-laden things that pull them both from sleep and shake Jim to his very core. _But what are they about?_ He refuses to tell Spock what he sees in these nightmares, no matter how nicely Spock asks or how craftily he phrases the question. The closest he ever got to an answer was Jim telling him, “I don’t want to burden you with my problems, love.”

Spock would have retorted that he is happy to share Jim’s problems, but the ‘love’ kept him from arguing, instead making him want to kiss Jim, as if he could pour the sentiment from his lips without words. It clearly didn’t work.

With a sigh, Spock does his best to return to sleep, trying to think some calming thoughts both for himself and for Jim.

* * *

Two days later, Spock is released from sickbay with the promise that he won’t do anything more than light duty prescribes and a quiet conversation in McCoy’s office.

“I don’t know what these nightmares are about, he wouldn’t tell me,” McCoy tells him, “I think maybe he’ll tell you if you ask him the right way, Spock. He-... Whatever they are, they’re doin’ a real number on him, that’s for sure.”

“I will do my best. As you are well aware, I do not take any joy from his suffering.”

“No, I expect you don’t… and especially not when it affects you- oh, don’t look at me like that. You’d be upset at his suffering even if it didn’t affect you. That’s what love is.”

“How did you know? We have been very careful not to tell anyone of our relationship.”

“Well then you might wanna try and control those lovestruck looks you give each other all the damn time,” McCoy tells him, “Christ, Jim looks at you like- like ya hung the stars in the sky just for him. It’s disgusting how in love you two are.”

Spock doesn’t hold back the small smile, replying, “Thank you, Doctor.”

“No problem, Spock… Now get outta my office. I got work to do.”

Spock spends the rest of the day making himself useful in little ways, doing his best to avoid breaking his light duty. He assists Scotty down in Engineering, the two of them bouncing ideas off one another to no avail. He goes to the bridge and speaks with Uhura and Sulu and Chekov, trying to gauge what happened and cycling through reports from that day. He avoids Jim for the time being. The conversation they need to have is not one that needs to happen out in the open and certainly not in front of their crew. So he bides his time.

It’s like he instinctively knows where Jim will be and tries to avoid him. He just wants the first time he sees him to be in his (their) quarters and to have the conversation they need to have.

Finally, he can no longer avoid him, no longer avoid those quarters, and so he makes his way there and enters his own quarters first. It feels like an eternity since he’s been in his quarters even though it’s only been a week, feels both strangely familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

And once he’s made a trip around his own room to make sure all is well, it’s time to go to the next room and try to speak with Jim. He slips through their shared bathroom, knowing it will be the easiest way to let Jim know it’s him and not someone else, and knocks on the door. When he hears the quiet affirmative, he opens the door to Jim’s quarters.

Jim lounges on his bed, arm behind his head, eyes closed. Spock’s chest squeezes, his affection for Jim making him almost dizzy. He goes to him, sits beside him on the bed, not quite touching, waits for Jim to speak.

“You’re doing okay now, Spock?” he finally asks, voice quiet.

“I am well. Dr. McCoy discharged me early this afternoon,” Spock replies, “I spent the day speaking with everyone regarding the… situation we find ourselves in.”

“Your arm?”

“I am on light duty for another week while my arm finishes healing. It is still sore, but the pain is manageable now.”

It’s a stilted conversation, hardly something either of them is used to regarding each other, but they’ll get past it. _Everyone fights. We will overcome this and return to what we were._

“You didn’t come find me,” Jim says after a moment of silence.

He finally opens his eyes, looking at Spock from under hooded lids, clearly tired.

“No, I did not. I-... I wished for us to speak in private the first time we spoke.”

Jim doesn’t reply, but he does seem to pay more attention to Spock, adjusting his body slightly to make it easier to look at him.

“Since I do not know the easiest way to say this, I will simply be blunt,” Spock says, “I would like for you to tell me about the nightmares which have plagued you so. They cause you a great deal of discomfort, which is terrible to me in and of itself… but your most recent nightmare also affected me. I could feel your fear and anxiety, and if something is making you feel such things, then I want to help you in any way possible.”

“What do you mean, you- you could feel-”

“Yes, Jim… I couldn’t see your dream or identify what it was of. I could only feel those emotions of fear and horror and anxiety. Jim… please...”

He doesn’t dare touch him yet. There’s too much between them at the moment, too much yet unsaid that needs to come out. Jim doesn’t speak yet, though, simply stares at Spock from his position on the bed, so Spock continues, “I love you. You know this, and if I, who love you so deeply, cannot be trusted to care for you, who can? You told me once before you did not wish to burden me with your problems, but you did not ask me if I wished to be burdened.”

“Spock, it’s not-”

“What is love if not the sharing of burdens? We have been through so much together, so many incredible things. How could you believe I would not carry this burden with you?”

“It isn’t that simple, Spock!” Jim finally says, sitting up and facing Spock fully, “If you knew what the burden was, then yes, maybe I would agree, but-... you don’t. You don’t know what it is-”

“Because you won’t tell me. How can I know what it is if you won’t tell me?”

He doesn’t know how to make Jim understand the depth of his love, that no matter what Jim tells him, he will love him just the same.

* * *

Jim doesn’t know how he can possibly make Spock understand without telling him what his nightmares are of, but the thought of telling him what they’re of sends fear rippling up his spine: fear that Spock will be disgusted by him, fear that Spock will walk out, fear that Spock won’t love him anymore. 

Spock’s proximity is suddenly stifling, overpowering, far too much for Jim’s overtaxed mind to handle, and he gets up and takes a few steps, trying to put some distance between them. Spock, for his part, doesn’t move, seeming to sense that this is what he needs. It hurts. It hurts to think someone loves him so much that they would overlook anything, would take on any burden without even knowing what it is.

And it isn’t as though Spock doesn’t know Jim was on Tarsus IV. It wasn’t a secret shared precisely how Jim would have wanted, but Spock has known about it for years now. It’s not even a secret that Jim has nightmares of Tarsus IV. Spock has soothed him through the aftershocks of many a nightmare where Jim has woken with phantom hunger pains and the sting of fear in the back of his mind. 

“Jim… _ashayam_ … let me help. Please.”

_Let me help._ Jim’s eyes squeeze shut against the tears that threaten him. Spock never even heard him say those words so long ago and still manages to turn them on him. Something pushes against his consciousness, following the thin link connecting his and Spock’s minds. For a moment, Jim thinks about pushing it away but the thought passes quickly, and he lets it in.

He’s overwhelmed by devotion and adoration and love, all Spock’s, all the most profound feelings Jim has felt in a long time. The strength of them sends the tears down his face. He turns, finally looking at Spock, seeing the same raw emotions on his face as he feels in his head. 

“Spock…”

But something still holds him back. _I need to tell him… I need to…_ Letting the feeling of Spock’s love push back the fear, Jim takes a deep breath.

“Spock… I’ve been dreaming of Tarsus IV… but not-... not like I usually do,” he says slowly, “Usually the dreams are just what happened there.”

“Yes, you’ve told me about them before. How are these different?”

“These dreams… In these dreams, I- I’m not chosen to- to die… I’m chosen to live. And not only that, but-... Kodos-... he makes me choose.”

Spock says nothing, but his expression is questioning, so Jim keeps going, “He makes me choose who lives and who dies, to decide who- who is worthy of living. When they started it was always something I was being forced to do, something like torture, seeming to give Kodos pleasure… but then… then they changed.”

“What of the one the other night? That McCoy had to wake you from?”

“I was a-... a protegee of sorts to Kodos, and the massacre was- I dunno, a final exam, I suppose. But I _wanted_ to be there, I _wanted_ to be his student. I knew that much in the dream. He told me what was going on and then he led me to the balcony, telling me I had to choose who was to live and die… but the people in the square weren’t the colonists I remembered,” Jim explains, his voice quiet, “It was the crew.”

“The crew? _This_ crew?”

“Yes… my crew. The people I’m supposed to protect… but this wasn’t the first time I had a dream like this.”

“Those nightmares you wouldn’t tell me about before-... before the Zeta Tucanae III mission.”

“Exactly… you were all in some of them, too.”

Spock gives a quiet sigh, says, “That explains your reaction in the sickbay… when we argued. You were upset because it felt like choosing.”

“It always feels like choosing any more,” Jim tells him, “Sure, we have plenty of peaceful missions, plenty of times where I send down ten people and actually get them all back in one piece, but the ones where I don’t… the ones where we lose people, I can’t help but think that it’s my fault, that I chose them to die-”

“You did not,” Spock cuts him off, rising to meet him, “You mustn’t think that way-”

“But I can’t help it. I know it’s all the luck of the draw, and I know I’ve done everything right, and I know it’s no one’s fault… I just can’t help it, Spock. It-... The idea just eats at me and eats at me until-”

“-until you have nightmares,” Spock finishes for him.

Jim just nods. Spock makes a soft noise, bringing his hands up to cup Jim’s face, hands cool and soothing.

“ _Ashayam_ , why did you think you couldn’t tell me this?”

“Because…” Jim’s voice is thick with apprehension and tears, “Because in the dreams I liked it.”

He dares to meet Spock’s gaze, sees only a question, continues, “I liked it, Spock: liked the- the power, the decision-making, everything. I don’t know why. Spock, my love, you know I’m not like that. You know I would never-”

“Of course I know,” Spock tells him, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones, “Of course I know you aren’t like that… and that you in the dream is not _you_. It is a part of you, yes, but that doesn’t mean it represents you. The mere fact that you are horrified by the idea of taking pleasure from such cruelty shows that it does not represent who you are. You are a good person, Jim… a very good person. It is why I love you.”

The admission of his love brings more tears to Jim’s eyes.

“Spock… Spock, I don’t like what’s happening on the ship now. I don’t like rationing power to certain parts of the ship, and I don’t like rationing food, and I don’t want to have to decide who lives and who dies-”

“It won’t come to that,” Spock stops him, “We will figure out what’s going on, and we will come up with a solution, and we will get out of this. I know we will.”

“What if we don’t?”

Jim’s voice is small and quiet and broken, but Spock’s is gentle and strong.

“We will deal with that when we must.”

Jim ducks his head, dropping it forward onto Spock’s shoulder, nose pressed against the delicate skin of his neck. Spock’s arms wrap around him, as gentle and strong as his voice, holding Jim in place there against his body. Waves of warmth and love and contentment wash over Jim, his eyes slipping shut, everything about Spock simply taking over every one of his senses. _I love him so much… so very much._

“Come,” Spock murmurs after a short while, pressing a kiss to Jim’s hair, “We should rest.”

A nod is the only reply Jim can muster, and he lets Spock maneuver him down on the bed. Spock joins him, pressing as close as he can, their legs and hands tangled together, faces so close their breath mingles between them, warm on each other’s lips. For the first time in a week, Jim feels something like peace, his proximity to Spock almost overwhelming after he’d been deprived of it. He’s overcome with need, the need to be close to Spock, to show him how much he loves him, to be as close to him as he possibly can.

He presses in, lips brushing over Spock’s. _I love him._ He kisses him again, whispers, “Help me, Spock… Help me forget all this for just a little while. Please.”

“But you should rest-”

“I don’t want to rest. I want you,” Jim says, stroking his fingertips over Spock’s cheek, “I almost lost you last week… Besides, you promised to stay safe and you didn’t. I think you owe me.”

He rolls himself over, straddling Spock’s hips and leaning in close.

“I missed you, Spock.”

“I didn’t go anywhere.”

“You know what I mean. I was an idiot for yelling at you, and it made us have a stupid argument-”

“It was not stupid, and neither were you. You had a very natural reaction to what happened-”

“I was stupid,” Jim smiles (for the first time in a week, he really smiles), “and it kept me away from you and I missed you.”

Spock’s hands slide up onto his waist, splaying over his back, and the gentle pressure has Jim leaning in closer, whispering, “I love you, Spock… so much.”

Their lips meet again, moving together sweetly, unhurried. Spock’s lips are cool and soft, a balm to Jim’s recent turmoil. Usually, it would have Jim pressing for more, desperate for heat and passion and something harsher, but right now it’s perfect. It grounds him. _This is what’s real. This is real._

“Yes, Jim,” Spock murmurs against his lips, “this is real. I am here.”

“I wanna forget all this, Spock… I wanna forget these awful nightmares, and I wanna forget this situation the ship is in, and I want-... I just want you, Spock. Help me forget.”

“Whatever you need, _ashayam_ … just tell me.”

Jim pulls back just enough to look at Spock, sees nothing in his expression save the same pure adoration he always holds for him, and just like always, it nearly knocks the breath from his lungs. He draws in a shaky breath.

“Just you, Spock. I just need you.”

This kiss has the heat Jim usually looks for, his mouth automatically opening at the barest touch of Spock’s tongue at his lips, his body melting against Spock’s. Arousal sparks up his spine. This is what he needs, something to quiet his mind and make him forget the events of the past week. _And I’ll be careful about his arm, too. Don’t want to lose him to sickbay again._ Jim grinds his hips down as he licks into Spock’s mouth, and Spock’s rock up into his in response, all thoughts of rest seemingly forgotten. He kisses like he’s trying to memorize the exact shape and dimensions and taste of Spock’s mouth, the feel of his tongue, the ridges of his palate; Spock seems to be doing the same.

Jim brings up a hand to card through Spock’s hair, reveling in the feel of the silky strands between his fingers. Spock’s hands slide up under Jim’s shirt, fingers cool on his heated skin and making him shiver, both from the sensation and in anticipation. Jim rolls his hips again and groans into Spock’s mouth, delighting in the way he swallows it down.

He’s suddenly desperate for Spock, for all of him, for his lips and tongue and hands and-

“I need you, Spock,” he groans as Spock’s mouth trails away from his and works its way along his jaw, nipping and biting and kissing.

“Tell me what you need.”

Spock’s words are quiet, his lips brushing over Jim’s skin as he speaks, and a shiver rolls down Jim’s spine.

“We’re wearing too many clothes… C’mon, I need to feel you, Spock. Lemme feel you...”

Sometimes, Jim likes to take his time stripping out of his clothes. He likes to put on a little show for Spock by easing out of each piece of clothing. This is not one of those times.

They’re both out of their uniforms in record time, Spock not even taking the time to fold his as he normally does, uniform pieces strewn on the floor.

“Just lay down, baby… let me do all the work, alright?”

Spock nods, his breath hitching as Jim bites into the sensitive skin just under his jaw, laves the bite with his tongue. _I need to show him just how much he means to me._ He can feel a constant stream of contentment and arousal pouring from Spock, spilling across their thin link, and he tries to push his own love through, wants Spock to understand how much he loves him.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Spock,” he murmurs.

“What if I wanted to take care of you?” Spock asks, teasing his fingers up Jim’s flank.

“I don’t really want Bones to come yelling at me because you hurt yourself pounding me into the mattress. Once you’re all healed up, you can take care of me any way you like.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Jim smirks, “I expect nothing less,” and dips his head, capturing Spock’s lips once more. This is almost enough, to be pressed fully against Spock’s body, skin to skin all over, breathing in his scent. It could be enough if it were any other night.

But it’s been a horrible week and more than a month of terrible nightmares even before the waking nightmare of the ship’s current situation, and Jim needs something more to bring him away from a harsh reality and into a beautiful one, away from danger and into Spock’s love.

Jim grinds his hips into Spock’s, brings their erections into full contact, both of them gasping at the sensation. He does it a few more times while they kiss, then pulls his lips away from Spock’s and drags them down the line of his throat. Spock shivers under him, fingers clutching at Jim’s back when Jim gives all his attention to one of his nipples, gently biting at it before swirling his tongue over the pert bud. 

After giving the other the same treatment, Jim keeps making his way down Spock’s torso, pausing only suck a bruise into the delicate skin over Spock’s hip bone. As he bites into the tender flesh of Spock’s thigh, the thoughts that had been swirling around his head, thoughts of fear and inadequacy and loss, begin to fade away. He focuses all his attention on Spock. _If I can show him how much I love him, how much I care about him…_

“I love you, Spock,” he whispers against the mark he left, breath ghosting over the wet spot left behind, Spock’s muscles twitching under his skin, “I love you so much, do you know that?”

It’s not a question that truly needs answering, but true to form, Spock answers him anyway. He pulls Jim up, cupping his face in his hands, gazing at him with such a reverence Jim has never before seen directed at him.

“Of course I do. Even when you don’t say the words, which you do say quite often,” he says with a soft smile, “it’s in your every action. You love so deeply, how could I not feel it? And I feel… blessed… that you love everyone on this ship so much, but it is I who you love best.”

“Yes, I love you best,” Jim kisses him, “most,” another kiss, “always.”

Jim licks into his mouth, kissing him languidly, passionately, tongue dragging across the roof of Spock’s mouth and making him shudder. He likes to do this to Spock, to make him shiver and gasp and break apart... and only for him. 

“Only for you,” Spock moans into Jim’s mouth, clearly having read his thoughts.

It makes Jim smile into their next kiss.

* * *

This wasn’t the evening Spock had planned when he first came to speak with Jim, but he certainly isn’t complaining, not as he digs his fingertips into the soft muscles of Jim’s back or grinds his hips up into Jim’s, not when he feel the complete and utter adoration Jim feels for him as clearly as if it were his own.

On any other night, Spock would want to be the one who takes care of Jim, would want to take him apart and put him back together. That isn’t what Jim wants tonight. Tonight, he wants to be the one to let Spock lay back and enjoy things, and if that’s what Jim wants, then Spock will let him have it.

“I’m gonna take care of you, Spock,” Jim murmurs against his lips, nipping gently, “I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby, just you wait…”

Spock is a patient man, oh, but this is something he desperately doesn’t want to wait for anymore. 

Not now that it’s started. 

Not when Jim kisses down the length of his torso once more, and this time when he reaches his cock he swallows it down in one smooth motion, the head hitting the back of Jim’s throat. Spock has to restrain himself from bucking into his mouth and choking him (because even though that’s something Jim may like, he’s unwilling to do it to him now).

Jim expertly sucks him off, swallowing his cock deep into his throat and letting it sit heavy on his tongue and laving over the tip, and it leaves Spock panting and writhing under him, fingers gripping the sheets so tightly he wonders if they’ll rip, though he hardly cares. His whole world centers on Jim’s mouth around his cock. It’s so hot it’s almost painful, the difference in their body temperatures never more apparent than in moments like this. Arousal builds heavy in his gut, waves of pleasure rolling up his spine.

“Jim,” he gasps, “Jim, I’m-”

Without the capability to speak, Jim merely hums around his cock, the vibrations setting every nerve on fire. Spock cums with a choked cry, spurting down Jim’s throat, and Jim swallows every drop. He takes a moment to lap at the oversensitive (and still hard) flesh before pulling back. As Spock comes back to himself, he sees Jim reaching behind himself, and Jim bites his lip, swallowing a moan. Spock’s hands leave the sheets, finding purchase on Jim’s waist.

“Jim… Please… Let me-”

“No, you don’t have to do any work tonight, baby. I was so terrible to you for no reason. I just wanna make you feel good-”

“Pleasing you makes me feel good, Jim. I won’t do anything else tonight, if that will please you… but-... I want to do this.”

Jim smirks, scooting up Spock’s torso so he can reach, and takes Spock’s hand, guiding it back. He’s done a good job of preparing himself already, his hole so slick and easily taking the two fingers Spock presses in. Jim whines at the intrusion, his body arching into the contact and pressing back. The heat inside him is nearly burning to Spock’s sensitive fingers, but it’s also beautiful, perfect, entrancing. He’s up to three fingers in no time, occasionally curling them to elicit a sharp cry from Jim, his whole body twitching delightedly.

“Spock,” he whines, pressing back to meet Spock’s fingers every time he pushes them in, “Please… want- want more… want your cock… gonna ride you so good, baby, gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good-”

His voice chokes off in a keening moan as Spock gives him what he wants, removing his fingers and sliding his cock into him in one swift motion.

But then, as Jim wishes, he does nothing else. He lets Jim sit there for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of being filled (because no matter how often it happens, it overwhelms him every time), gives him a moment to breathe. Perhaps he needs a moment of his own, as well. He waits for Jim to move.

“I love this, Spock,” he purrs, only moving to lean over and very nearly press his lips to Spock’s, “I love having you inside me… feels so good and full… what if I just wanted to sit here like this all night and not do anything else? Just wanted to lay here and feel full of you, hmm? Could you stand that, _Mister_ Spock?”

“If that is what you want, then it is my pleasure to do so,” Spock answers honestly.

Jim leans in closer, nips at his lower lip but doesn’t kiss him fully, pulls away. Spock almost chases him, but he manages to stay still. After all, Jim wants him to stay still and be pleasured, and Spock only wants what Jim wants. He instead plasters kisses all over Spock’s jaw, still not moving his hips, but it still feels wonderful, his body hot and tight around Spock. He can feel Jim’s arousal pouring off him, his excitement, his contentment. His cock twitches of its own accord in Jim’s hole, making Jim twitch in turn.

“Do you want me to move, baby?” Jim whispers against his lips.

“If that is what you wish,” Spock tells him, breathless.

“And if I don’t want to?”

“If-... If that is what you wish…”

His only reply is to grind his hips down and roll them. It makes Spock gasp, his fingers digging into Jim’s thighs, his hips bucking up of their own accord. Jim does it again and again achieves the same result.

Jim’s body is firm and golden and perfect above him, rolling along with his hips, undulating with such grace and precision. Jim’s pupils are blown, his usually golden-honey eyes dark with lust. Jim’s skin is flushed and shining with sweat, muscles working visibly beneath. Jim’s lips are plush and pink and kiss bitten.

Jim is _beautiful_.

Spock’s mouth feels suddenly bereft, feels hollow without Jim’s tongue in it, and he can’t hold back anymore. He reaches up to take Jim’s face in his hands and drags him down to meet his lips. Jim seems to get the hint, his tongue delving deep into Spock’s mouth, as deep as he can get it, and the moan that rips itself from Spock’s throat is almost animal. 

He _wants_ , wants in a way he never has before, is needy and desperate. Maybe it’s almost dying and maybe it’s the fight they’d had that seemed to last forever and maybe it’s just having been away from each other for a week. But as much as Jim wants to be filled, Spock wants to feel. He wants to feel anything, everything, all that Jim will give him and let him take.

His promise to stay still falls by the wayside, Spock’s need to please Jim overpowered by his need to feel. He fucks up into Jim, swallowing all the little moans and whimpers that spill from his mouth, holding his hips so tight he’s sure to see bruises there when they’re done. Jim pulls back from his mouth with a loud cry as Spock hits his prostate with a particularly rough thrust.

“Agai- _Fuck_! Spock, again! Do that again!”

And with that, Jim seems to forget his own request for Spock to do nothing, not that Spock is complaining, not when he loves to please Jim so. He adjusts his angle slightly. Jim all but screams on every thrust now, mouth hanging open, fingers scrabbling against Spock’s chest. None of his words make sense anymore. They’re just strings of nonsensical sounds and moans and Spock’s name.

Beautiful.

Jim cums with a sobbing moan and a full-body shudder, his body clenching around Spock as his cum spurts up onto Spock’s chest. His cock hadn’t even been touched. All it takes are another few rough thrusts and Spock is cumming in Jim’s hole, that same animal growl escaping his throat. Jim collapses onto his chest, heedless of the mess he’s made there, and when Spock tries to pull his softening cock out, Jim murmurs, “No… No, not yet… just stay for a little while, my love,” and presses a kiss under his jaw.

Spock replies as he always does: “If that is what you wish.”

* * *

If anyone thinks Jim’s attitude is much improved in the week since Spock has been released from sickbay, they say nothing of it, their relationship being the worst kept secret on the entire ship… but if they want to keep it a secret so will everyone else.

“Here, Mr. Scott,” Spock says, handing over a PADD, “try this formula. It may be enough to kick start the engines.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll try it…”

Scotty doesn’t have much faith in it. Not that he doesn’t have faith in Spock, of course. He has all the faith in the galaxy in him, but nothing they’ve done so far has worked, so he isn’t getting his hopes up for this particular formula. Sure enough, he inputs it, waits, tries his system.

“Nothing, Mr. Spock… Nothin’ at all.”

Spock purses his lips, deep in thought. Scotty just waits. He’s already told Spock everything he’s done to try and get the ship moving again, and he certainly hasn’t thought of anything that Spock hasn’t now that he’s up and moving again.

“Do we have enough power to access the scanners on the bridge?”

“Aye… but they scanned what they could when we first ran into this little problem. Didn’t find anything helpful then.”

“Can we access communications then? Attempt to communicate with-”

“Uhura tried that in the first ten minutes, sir. You ought to know that.”

“Yes, I ought to. I’ll offer her my apologies later,” Spock says, returning to deep thought.

Scotty dives into his own, wracking his brain for the hundredth time (or maybe the thousandth), trying to think of anything he might’ve missed, anything that could help them out of this situation.

“Lieutenant Commander Scott! Commander Spock!”

Both their heads snap back up. One of Scotty’s engineers is at her panel, confusion evident in her face. Scotty rises to his feet, goes to her, asks, “Aye, Lieutenant, what is it?”

“Sirs-... Sirs, we’re- we’re regaining energy!”

“ _What_?” 

Scotty almost pushes Yuan out of the way in his haste to make sure she’s seeing it right. And then he beckons over Spock to make sure _he’s_ seeing it right. Sure enough, just as Yuan said, they’re slowly (ever so slowly) regaining power to their engines. Scotty lunges for the comm but Spock beats him to it, calling up to the bridge for Kirk.

“ _Yes, Mr. Spock, what is it?_ ”

Spock shares a look with Scotty, and Scotty calls, “Sir, I think you’d just better get down here to see for yourself,” and then he turns to Yuan, telling her, “Keep your eyes on this panel, Lieutenant. Monitor the power levels and keep track of how quickly it’s coming back.”

“Yessir.”

She plants herself firmly in front of the panel while Scotty moves to look at the warp core panels. There, too, the power is slowly coming back. _What the-_

“What is it, Scotty? Spock? What’s going on?”

“Cap’n, while Spock and I were doing some theorizing on our situation, Lieutenant Yuan here was watching the power levels for any signs of fluctuation and-”

“Lieutenant, did you see something?”

“Yessir. We’re steadily regaining power to the engines and warp core,” she explains, “It’s slow. We’re only at 15% now, but- well, it’s steady, sir.”

“What did you do? How did you fix it?” Kirk asks, his eyes wide.

“Nothing, Cap’n,” Scotty tells him, “We’re as confused as you are.”

“So what, the power just-... started coming back on? On its own?”

“Aye, that it did.”

“Lieutenant, how long before we have enough power to get moving?”

“I would estimate… around six hours, sir.”

Kirk nods, quickly composing himself, but Scotty’s known him long enough to see him relax like a physical weight has been lifted from his shoulders, sees the smile he hides as soon as he feels it. After a moment, Kirk nods again, says, “Well, that’s-... That’s great. Scotty, you and your crew keep monitoring the power and keep me apprised of the situation. Spock, come with me to the bridge. Let’s see if we can figure what the hell happened to the ship.”

Scotty watches them go, feeling something lighten in his own chest. He turns to Lieutenant Yuan again, says, “Alright, lass, let’s keep track of everything. You’re in charge of keeping the cap’n updated.”

“Yessir.”

* * *

In the end, they never do figure out _exactly_ what caused the ship to lose power, though Spock’s theory is the best anyone comes up with.

“We’ve run into similar alien life throughout the galaxy, its only form being an energy cloud of some sort,” he explains, “I think our best guess at what made the ship lose power is a being of this sort that lives in and moves through the vacuum of space and draws energy from whatever it comes across, be it a star or a planet or a ship. It seems to know and understand life forms different from it, as it did not drain all energy from the ship and it did not drain any life energy from the living beings on the ship.”

“So you’re saying it just… stalled us for a while so it could eat?” Uhura asks.

“Essentially, yes. It draws enough energy to keep going, but not enough to kill whatever it feeds from. A most intriguing creature, if we could actually get any readings from it. Unfortunately, because we had no power, and because of the nature of the creature, we were unable to.”

“Maybe it’s better we don’t know too much about it,” Jim says, wearing a soft smile, “If it’s not a danger to anyone, perhaps it’s best to just-... let it live.”

There’s a quiet chorus of affirmative hums and a wave of nodding as his command crew agrees, the group sitting in contemplative silence for another few moments before Jim tells them, “Alright, everyone, let’s go mind the store. Back to our posts.”

His officers file out of the conference room, chatting happily, until only Jim, Spock, and McCoy are left in the doorway. It’s nice, to be on the other side of a crisis with no one worse for wear, and it’s even nicer to be here with two of the people he cares about most in the world. He turns to look at McCoy, sees him wearing a calm smile, his blue eyes warm as he gazes back. He turns to look at Spock, sees him with his usual almost smile and hint of amusement in his expression. Jim feels himself grin, a quiet laugh bubbling up from his chest.

“Wanna let us in on the joke, Jim?”

“There’s no joke, Bones,” and his voice is earnest as he continues, “I’m just-... I’m very happy.”

* * *

> [The Choices We Make - Art](//imgur.com/a/glKUwBR)


End file.
